


Dear Santa

by PetrichorPerfume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas as Santa, Christmas Fluff, Little Dean, M/M, Santa Claus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel emerges from Purgatory only to come face to face with little!Dean on Christmas Eve. He decides to make a little Christmas magic come to life. And if he happens to win Dean's heart in the process, well, maybe dreams do come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear God... I’ve never been one to get down on my knees and pray, and I know that you’re probably not listening, but Cas always used to tell me that you’re going to decide to give a shit one day soon so here goes nothing. I don’t want much for Christmas this year. I never do. Just, please... Look after Sammy. And... Bring Cas back. I’m begging you. Please, bring him home to us. To me. Please._

 

***

 

“Santa? Santa, Santa, wake up!”

 

Castiel wakes up to a bright, warm pressure on his chest. His eyes fly open and power gathers at the tips of his fingers, ready to draw his blade, but the sight that greets him is enough to make him pause. Silhouetted by a speckled cobalt sky shining with the light of thousands of stars is the brightest soul he’s ever seen, peering down at him with the same hauntingly green eyes that had captured his heart since the moment they’d locked onto his. “Dean?”

 

“Santa!” The child cheers as he clambers off his chest and tries to tug him upright.

 

Castiel has never been able to resist the urge to follow Dean wherever he leads him, so he lets the child pull him up and out of the snowdrift he’d landed in. He stands and looks around, breathing in the snow-scented air made sharp with cold and letting his eyes sweep over the white plains of snow sloping down the lawn and over the cars and through the street. The world isn’t grating on his senses anymore, which means that he probably isn’t in Purgatory at the moment, but he’s certain that he’s not in the year he’d left. It’s hard to tell, though, with Dean standing beside him like a warm, comforting beacon whispering _home, love, adore_ into the center of his Grace.

 

He leans down to take a closer look at the child, and Dean stands still for a moment before shivering so violently that his teeth start to chatter. “Dean!” He exclaims, stripping out of his coat and wrapping it around the tiny human. “You’re freezing.”

 

“O-only a l-little,” Dean lies.

 

Castiel squints his eyes at the house that he recognizes from Dean’s earliest memories. Inside, John and Mary Winchester are asleep. He can sense the faintest hint of Sam’s soul within Mary’s womb and smiles sadly. “We’re going to go inside, but you need to be very quiet,” he whispers. The last thing he needs is to awaken Dean’s parents. He could hold his own against either one of them, but he knows that his brothers are watching his house and its occupants and if any one of them saw him now, they wouldn’t hesitate to smite him on the spot. His Grace is weak enough at the moment that he shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention, but things could get ugly fast if Mary or John became aware of his presence, and he’s going to need a few hours for his Grace to recharge before he can return to his own time.

 

“I can be quiet,” Dean promises as he slips one hand into Castiel’s.

 

A surge of warmth races through Castiel’s Grace at the feeling of Dean’s hand in his, followed by a spike of protectiveness. He’s always felt the need to keep the Winchesters safe from harm, but right now, Dean is weak and helpless and completely defenseless against evil in all of its incarnations. He doesn’t know how to fight and his tiny legs couldn’t carry him far enough or fast enough to keep him away from danger. Right now, the only thing threatening Dean is the harsh bite of fresh snow against his bare feet, but if they did come across a monster, Castiel would be his only protection.

 

They tiptoe into the house, closing the door behind them with a soft snick that Cas fears is too loud. Cas toes his shoes off at the entranceway and together they make their way down the hallway, up the stairs, and into Dean’s bedroom. To Castiel’s relief, Dean’s room is on the second floor while his parent’s bedchamber is downstairs.

 

“You don’t look like Santa,” Dean accuses once the door is closed behind them and the lights are flipped on.

 

“That’s because I’m one of Santa’s helpers,” Castiel replies. Santa is one of the few human customs that he’s familiar with, thanks to Dean sitting him down, thrusting a cup of eggnog into his hands, and forcing him to sit through a marathon of Christmas movies two years ago. During commercials, Dean had told him about his childhood Christmases, including a dream he’d had when he was three about some ‘weird dude with a stupid beard and a smelly coat’ that he was convinced was Saint Nick. _Oh._

 

“You don’t look like an elp,” Dean points out, crossing his little arms over his chest.

 

“I’m not sure what that is,” Castiel confesses, “but I can assure you that I am here on Santa’s orders.”

 

“You talk funny,” Dean observes as he flops down on his bed. “And you have a yucky coat and you’re all hairy.”

 

Castiel sighs. Three-year-old Dean is even more confusing to deal with than adult Dean. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“And where are my presents? I’m going to tell Santa that you’re not a very good helper.” Dean starts to pout and Castiel melts just a little.

 

“Santa sent me to ask you what you wanted for Christmas,” Cas explains, sitting down on the edge of the bed and giving into the urge to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. It was something he’d always wanted to do, but he’d never thought that the hunter would take kindly to that. He smiles when he finds that it’s as soft as he’d always imagined it to be.

 

Dean turns into the touch and thinks for a moment before answering. “I don’t want a lot of stuff,” he says. “I just wanna grow up to be an awesome superhero, like you see on TV. Oh! And I wanna be handsome when I grow up, too, like daddy, and pretty like mommy also! I also want a baby brother. I’d love him if he was a girl, too, but I really want a little brother. I want him to grow up to be the bestest little brother ever. He can be my sidekick. Oh! And I also want a big red bike with a horn and two seats so we can both ride as soon as he’s born! Dad’s been teaching me and I can teach him. And I want a puppy too! Daddy said we can get one when I’m a little older. And a toy train set. And maybe a car, just like Dad’s.”

 

Castiel chuckles softly. “I can’t promise that you’re going to get everything on your list tomorrow, Dean, but I promise that one day, you’re going to have everything you just wished for.”

 

Dean opens his mouth as if to reply, but all that comes out is a yawn. “I’m sleepy,” he mumbles. “Waiting up for Santa is hard work. I was almost asleep when you showed up.”

 

Castiel lets his lips curl up into a tender smile. He rises from the bed and draws the covers up over Dean’s shoulders. “Sleep now, Dean. I’ll watch over you.”

 

“G’night, Santa.”

 

“Good night, Dean. Sweet dreams.”

 

In the Present:

 

Dean awakens to the feel of something cold and wet nuzzling his cheek. “Come on, Sammy,” he grumbles. “’m tryin’ to sleep.” When no answer is forthcoming, he forces himself to crack open one eye. Groaning at the sight that greets him, he rolls out of bed and scrubs one hand over his face. “A husky puppy. Great. He is _so_ going to pay for this.”

 

A glance at the bed reveals his brother to be asleep, a state of affairs that Dean quickly remedies with a bucket of ice water. “What the hell, Dean?” Sam splutters as he sits up, fingers reflexively curled around the knife under his pillow.

 

“Very funny, Sam,” Dean scoffs, pointing to the puppy bouncing on his bed.

 

Sam’s face lights up in a way Dean hasn’t seen in years when his gaze falls upon the puppy. “ _No_. No way. You got us a puppy?” He leaps out of bed and wraps his arms around the dog, who yips twice before trying to squirm away. “Oh, _Dean._ ”

 

Just as Dean is about to protest that he has nothing to do with the dog, the lights flicker and a train set appears on the table. Within seconds, their guns are drawn and the puppy is all but forgotten. A red two-seater bike materializes propped up against the wall and Dean tenses. “Show yourself,” he demands. The wind picks up and the lights blow out. The door swings open and Dean realizes what is happening a split second after he pulls the trigger.

 

“Dean,” Castiel chastises as he steps into the room, voice low and disproving but smile speaking volumes. He repairs his coat with a touch. “Merry Christmas.” The dog leaps off the bed and into his arms and Castiel ruffles its fur before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of dog treats. “You have no idea how difficult it was to bribe the Duke of Possum Trot to accompany me here.”

 

“Cas,” Dean chokes out, lowering his gun and staring at the angel in disbelief.

 

Castiel closes the door behind him and sets the puppy down on the floor. “I didn’t forget you, Sam,” he promises, pulling an envelope from his other pocket and tossing it the youngest Winchester.

 

Sam looks between Dean and Castiel before cutting open the envelope and spilling its contents into his hand. There are three keys and a letter.

 

_Dear Santa,_

_My name is Sam Winchester and I’m six years old. I don’t have a house but Miss Lila says that you can find me anywhere. What I really want for Christmas is a home. It’d also be cool if you could get my big brother Dean a dog, because he gets sad whenever he sees one and I know it’s because he wants one so bad._

_Dean says that you aren’t real, but Miss Lila says he’s wrong. She also told me that you didn’t give out houses these days, but that’s okay. I can wait._

_Love,_

_Sammy_

 

“Cas?” Sam questions, looking up from the letter and giving the angel with a quizzical smile.

 

“You’re back,” Dean breathes, tearing Castiel’s attention from Sam. “You’re really back.”

 

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel confirms. “I’m back. I don’t know how, or who pulled me out of Purgatory, or why, but I’m here now.”

 

Dean takes a few cautious steps forward until he’s toe to toe with Cas and close enough to feel his warmth. “You still granting Christmas wishes?” He asks, running one finger along the edge of Castiel’s coat and breathing shallowly.

 

“I suppose that granting one more wish wouldn’t be terribly difficult after I-”

 

“I want you to stay,” Dean interrupts. “Please. I... I don’t want to lose you again, man. I’ll get down on my knees if I have to, but I... I need you.”

 

“All you had to do was ask,” Castiel whispers, reaching out to cup Dean’s face in his hands. Dean makes a soft sound and presses into the caress.

 

Dean parts his lips to say something sweet and sentimental and humiliating, but the Duke of Possum Trot jumps between them before he has the chance. “Stupid mutt,” he mummers fondly, bending down to scratch behind the puppy’s ears.

 

“It’s good to have you back,” Sam says to Castiel once the angel tears his eyes from Dean. “And, uh...” He jingles his keys, barely daring to hope that maybe, just maybe...

 

“Those are keys to a house on the coast of Maine. If you’d like, I can take you there. There’s more than enough room for the four of us.”

 

Sam’s breath catches in his throat and he stares down at the keys.

 

“Whatd’ya say, Sammy? You, me, Cas, n’ Duke here and a nice house by the sea?”

 

Sam laughs. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three years later:

 

Dear Santa,

 

I don’t want much for Christmas this year. I’m almost done with law school and I have a beautiful fiancée and we have puppies on the way. (Apparently the Duke of Possum Trot was a Duchess all along. Who would have thought it?) We have a home now, and truly, I couldn’t ask for more.

 

Well, not exactly. I could really use some soundproof walls. (From the sound of it, Dean and Cas are trying really, really, _really_ hard to have ‘puppies’ of their own. Multiple times a night.) Or just a lifetime supply of earplugs. Either would work.

 

Thanks, Santa.

 

~ Love Sam


End file.
